


Angel With A Shotgun

by justanother_bloody_fangirl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Basically Maze Runner in my own version of the Hunger Games, But for my story he needs to be slightly younger than the others, Changed the Hunger Games, Especially after TDC, Gen, I know he is older than Thomas, In general I don't like Brenda so Brenda won't be likeable in this, Multi, NEWT WILL LIVE WITHOUT A DOUBT, Newt is fifteen - younger then the others, Other than Lizzy and Chuck who are the only teens/kids younger than him, Stuff belongs to Suzanne Collins and James Dashner, We hate Brenda, Yes I changed stuff, and I think younger than Minho, i don't like Brenda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-04-07 23:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14092503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanother_bloody_fangirl/pseuds/justanother_bloody_fangirl
Summary: After Katniss Everdeen's revolution, Panem united and, as one, the country darkened. New Districts were created, people were kidnapped and have gone missing - from the outside the rules seem fine, but from the inside not even the Capitol could have created these rules pre-74th Annual Hunger Games.Newt Isaacs is reaped, and is one of the New Panem's, from District Sixteen, and whose parents were kidnapped from Britain and are now missing. With only his sister at home, Newt isn't prepared to make allies when each Hunger Games is set up differently each year and everyone is in the dark. However, after meeting the other tributes and learning the way this Hunger Games is going to work, Newt realises that maybe, maybe they could survive this.





	1. Chapter One

“I’m scared Newt. What if they choose me? What if _I_ have to go into the arena? What then? I don’t want to join the list.” Lizzy whimpers, hands stroking my face as she pulls me into a tight hug, her stick-thin body trembling under my own bony limbs.

“Sonya Elizabeth Isaacs. We don’t know the rules for this year. You _won’t_ be chosen. I know it. I’ll keep you safe, you will never – _never_ – go to an arena. You won’t join the list of the chosen. If anyone would want to take you, they have to go through me. Bloody hell, they have to go through me and every other defence I will create to stop them from reaching you. I don’t care if it’s treasonous – I will protect you forever. My sister. My little sister. Lizzy, trust me.” I whisper, catching her wet face in my hands, and turning her head away from my neck and to face me. My voice breaks multiple times as I try to hold back tears, but eventually they trickle down my cheeks, soaking my lashes and dripping onto the ends Lizzy’s blonde hair, which had a more reddish undertone colour then my fluffy “sunlit halo” as my sister calls my messy crop.

I wipe my face and pull her off my lap, bringing us both up to our bruised and swollen feet. Our rags hang limply off our skeletal frames. Our dirty hands lace together as we leave our shack, our Homestead, the warm connection in our palms fuelling our life and propelling us to the town centre of District 16.

You would have thought that after the Revolution with Katniss Everdeen everything would have turned out for the best for Panem. Nope. Capitol sympathisers joined forces with the rebels, once they realised they both wanted the same thing and to get that would be easier if they weren’t fighting each other. The Hunger Games slowly came back, but with a different purpose and different rules each year, so much so that they were barely recognisable from the pre-Revolution Hunger Games. The survivors of each game would…well no one knew. There had never been any survivors.

Panem needed more people, the Revolution killed millions. So a few soldiers were sent undercover to countries across the world that, like Panem, had bordered themselves off from every country and lived by themselves, as if they were the only society left on the world. More Districts were made. The countries that had had people taken from them never communicated out, because they were that independent, so that none of the New Panem’s knew if their county even _knew_ that they were missing.

There were nineteen Districts now, and “no Capitol”. Most money went to the Original Districts, so even Twelve and Thirteen were rich, now built up stronger and with stone houses, not wooden structures. War Criminals that weren’t sentenced to death (all the Capitol’s citizens that had just lived there, who hadn’t anything to do with the Government) were sent to District Fourteen and Fifteen. Sixteen was left to the kidnapped. Seventeen and Eighteen to the Politicians. Nineteen was left for criminals. Instead of Peacekeepers torturing and killing criminals, or creating Avoxs, Peacekeepers sent them to Nineteen – from pictures it looks like a massive building and there are large luxurious rooms that are “cells” and a massive hall for food. But the pictures are always empty. Could that mean the prisoners never reach there?

My family, the Isaacs, were taken from England, about twenty years ago, one the last of the few families taken. We were one of the two thousand families forced to live in District Sixteen. I was born five years later, with Lizzy born just over two years after me. Each family in the District usually kept themselves to themselves, or they conversed with families taken from the same country. The other British families that were taken, I believe, either died on the way, or were taken to Nineteen, so the Isaacs were by ourselves. Mum and Dad were taken to Nineteen when I was seven. I think it might have been because they were British, so from then on, I forced Lizzy to speak in the accent most had adopted – Panem’s accent.

I kept my parent’s accent, but for her safety, her normal accent had to be the same as the others. Most people in Sixteen adopted the accent as well – leaving me and some of the much older, stubborn people in Sixteen with our original accents…but there weren’t many of them either, most of them ended up being taken to Nineteen.

I turn and plant a kiss on Lizzy’s forehead.

“Happy Birthday, Lizzy.” I murmur, she gives a small, nervous giggle.

“Newt! Remember, you have to call me Sonya outside of home. And this is the best birthday present. Happy twelfth birthday! You might get taken into an arena _no one survives!_ ” Lizzy replies quickly, her voice trembling, but she still hugs me tight.

“Almost as good as that…cake…you made me for my fifteenth. It was meant to be a cake right? Not…um…it looked more like a cake then it looked like something else. But even a rock looked more like a cake then that did.” I chuckle, streaking my hand through my hair and nudging my sister’s shoulder. She shoved me back and we were soon play fighting until we heard a shout.

“Newton Isaacs! Sonya Isaacs! That is _enough_!” A voice cries out over the barren streets, we were going to be late. _Shit_. “Go in silence!” I hate Andrew, the man shouting at us, an ugly, brutish Peacekeeper. We hurry down the abandoned, cobbled streets, the hazy blobs of the end of the crowd disappearing over the horizon. We sprint (or at least we try) and manage to catch up with the horde. Still holding hands, I roughly pull Lizzy through the throng, trying to break free to the front. Finally we reach the place where we sign in and separate.

“Lizzy, I love you.” I whisper in her ear as she is dragged by the other twelve year old girls to the left. She turns and nods, mouthing it back. I smile reassuringly and then become stone faced, facing the woman behind the desk.

“I’m Newton Isaacs, and I’m fifteen.” I spit at the woman, who glares back at me.

“British, huh?” she sneers at me, her lip curling. Bloody bitch.

“Yeah, just like I was last year, and the year before – and guess what! The year before that as well! And…well, this is gonna bloody shock ya…I’ve been bloody British and proud from the moment I was born.” I bite back, I try to reign in my anger but….oh who bloody cares?

“Last one aren’t you? No one British left in Panem. Not a good thing is it? You being different. Noticeable.” I almost punch her, but I just storm past her and into my section and stand there fuming. She was bloody threatening me. Wait? Last British left? Did that mean my parents…? Was anyone actually at Nineteen? Were my parents alive? Were Lizzy and I orphans?

I stare in thought for a while until I hear half-hearted cheers and claps. A woman was walking onto the stage, strutting about in a suit and with black, lace-ups with her brown hair flying loosely round her shoulders, in large ringlets.

“Hello, children of District Sixteen – and your parents and grandparents. Today, I will explain the 99th Hunger Games to you all. Today, only one name will be reaped.” she pauses, waiting for the reaction, which she happily receives, a fake, horrifying “smile” stretching across her emotionless, cold face . Gasps, cries and relieved sighs echo all around me. Everyone has a less chance of the “odds being in their favour” – but that unlucky one will be alone. “A male.” Even more gasps, the girls all begin to cry – relieved for themselves, but scared for brothers, friends, lovers. Lizzy is smiling at me, tearfully, but her eyes show she is worried. “And that is…Newton Isaacs.”

All eyes turn to me, but all I can see is Lizzy. Everything is quiet, so I can hear her choked cry.

“Newt?”

“It’s ok Lizzy.” I know I’m not meant to call her that in public. I know I’m not meant to show how much we mean to each other. I know. I know. But right now, I can’t. I begin to slowly walk, speed walk, run, through the parting of crowd of boys and down the aisle to where my sister has run out to meet me. She’s sobbing now, as we fall down to the ground, in the same position we had been in twenty minutes ago. “Lizzy. Lizzy. Lizzy.” I comfortingly repeat her name, stroking her hair, breathing in her smell so I can remember my sister, letting her kiss my cheeks, while she still sobs out my name.

Hard, large hands push between our chests, shoving her across the gravel, while linking their hands around my chest and half-dragging me away. Lizzy looks up, small cuts dotting her face. That makes me go feral, I begin to fight the hands – trying to twist out of the hand’s grip and pull myself towards Lizzy.

“That’s my sister! How bloody dare you! Let me go you shit! Lizzy!” I yell, but the hands turn me away from Lizzy, who is still sobbing, lying on the ground and shove me up some steps. I stumble round, so I’m going backwards up the steps, trying to kick the guy who had taken me from Lizzy in the shins. I almost fall back when hands grasp my hair at the nape of my neck and yank me up to my feet and right next to the woman who had called out my name. She forces my head to look straight ahead, and my eyes instantly search for Lizzy. Vince has her. I tearfully smile.

Vince is our neighbour, and tutors Lizzy sometimes. He wanted to teach me, but I decided I could read and write well enough, so I could go about trying to get money, while Lizzy gained more knowledge then anyone in District Sixteen. As far as anyone knows. No one, not even Vince, Lizzy or Vince’s adopted daughter, Harriet, know that I’ve read all the books in the District and I aced all my exams….the ones you take when you are a lot older then I am.

“Why don’t you tell us about yourself – Newton?” the woman hisses, her nails digging into my skin.

“I’m Newt Isaacs. Fifteen and five months. Got a younger sister as I think you bloody well know.” I rip myself out of the bitch’s hold, my hand instantly goes to my neck.

“British, I see?” she sweetly smiles, but her eyes tell a different story.

“Why, is that a big deal over in....?” I shoot back, I glance down at my hand and see what I had guessed was on the back of my neck, blood. That bitch had almost ripped my skin off my neck. I deliberately trail off because everyone knows the Capitol was never destroyed, and the highest of the highest, and, the tributes, are the only ones who will ever go there.

Taking hold of my shoulder, she begins to steer me away from the crowd, towards the waiting car. I see Lizzy is being led over, with Vince and Harriet coming up behind her. I am pushed onto a seat, which is scratchy and horrible. I am surprised it’s not leather, when I see that the car seats _are_ leather – they just put rags over my seat. The bloody guy who dragged me to the stage slides in beside me reaches over and slams my door shut. I hear the clicks of multiple locks sliding together and latching onto more metal, securely entrapping me in a bloody steel box with some large, inhuman, touchy man who’s basically sitting on my leg to make sure I won’t go anywhere. Even though there is a free seat right at the end he sits on the bloody middle seat and half on me. So glad it is not my b…other leg. Yeah.

Lizzy is on the other side of the door, and reaches through the open window. We hug as best as we can through the window, both sobbing and trying to keep with each other for as long as we can. I feel Hand Guy’s arm underneath my elbow and he’s pulling me back, with his free hand flicking up a switch that begins the glass window – which is tainted – to slide up. I try and wriggle off of Hand Guy, who is leaning back and holding me close to him, so I’m basically lying on top of him, to stop me from letting my fingers brush with my sisters for the last time.

We are both in hysterics, both banging on the window and the door, trying to get it open. Hand Guy has now fully pulled me onto to his lap and almost into the other seat, and has grabbed the shin on my go- the leg he had been sat on, which I managed to free from under him and started to kick the car door with. It bloody hurt, but I didn’t care.

My sister….my sister….my only sister….the only person I had….I’m the only person she had….we only had each other….our only remaining family was each other….

I’m screaming her name as we drive away, and I can see her mouth repeating mine. Hand Guy shoves me back on my seat. The rags are all twisted uncomfortably; I don’t dare to fix them. I’m not ashamed of my tears, or even that a random guy had just manhandled me about five bloody times in the past five minutes. But I know, _I know_ , that my whole bloody scene in the crowd and on the stage was witnessed by millions. They know about Lizzy. They know my weaknesses; my sister, my anger and now most will think my bark is worse than my bite.

Something cold clinks around my wrist and I almost jump, but Hand Guy is holding my tender neck, keeping me in place. His other hand locks handcuffs around my tiny wrists, securely digging into my skin. I’m not surprised that even though I’m dangerously thin, the cuffs fit tightly; most from this district have a similar build to me – though I won’t boast that Lizzy and I are some of the worst off.

Bloody Original Panems. Even Twelve and Thirteen, who fought so hard for freedom and justice, are prepared to let others go through the same thing they did if it meant that they won’t get a second taste of their past. Selfish bastards.

“We’ll arrive at the train in twenty minutes. Your sister will be able to send a single belonging with one of our men to the train before it leaves tonight.” Hand Guy mutters darkly to me, I just nod and almost let out a relieved sigh. I know what she will send. I wear it almost every day, except on Reaping days, in case a Peacekeeper sees it. A necklace with a tube a letter can fit in. I used to keep my parents letter to us in it, but then we memorised it and burnt it – Peacekeepers and all the others would relish in taking something that precious from us.

The car pulls up to the most glamourous thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t bloody like it. A huge metal tube that hovers over the polished tracks, the metal gleaming and sparkling a gunmetal grey. All it is, is smooth steel; you can’t even see the gaps where the doors are.

Hand Guy taps something onto the door – why do I feel like I wasn’t taught that so I don’t try to escape? – and the wall shifts, revealing a large train compartment. I’m shoved into the steel cage and the wall slides back behind me.

Already feeling panic clawing at my chest, I turn and pummel at the wall.

“Please let me out! Please don’t leave me on my own!” I scream, the cuffs around my wrist letting out a sharp clang as they hit the walls. But no one answers or does anything, and I am left sobbing in the room. I slide down the wall and sit curled up on myself, finally letting the realisation sink in and rack my body, one final, broken, humane cry ripping out my throat. “Lizzy…”


	2. Chapter Two

“Get up, you little shit. Your compartments have been secured and you can now enter them.” Hand Guy bursts through the wall (which had slid to the side as smoothly as water runs down a waterfall) and nods his head behind him. I shakily get up, clutching my left leg and I limp over to him and try to sidle past his bulky figure and to the compartment next. He sticks his hand in front of me, blocking me from entering the other room, and resting on the frame, a bloody smug smile stretched across his sicko face. “After I search you that is.”

_Serious-bloody-ly?_

It takes a while for my brain to actually click with my body and to tell my limbs that I need to _run bloody run_ so he’s already grabbed my arm before I take a step back. I manage to rip his grip off and I can tell I’m going to be left with bruises and scratches. Teetering backwards, my leg collapses beneath me and I tumble to the ground. Crawling backwards, I hiss and spit at Hands Guy, who just pulls me up by my shoulders.

“Hey! Do I look like I have some weapons on me? _Do I_? Or maybe so kind of bloody pin with some bloody bird on it that tore up a whole society, sparked a revolution and was the cause and face of a movement and a war that killed millions and caused an even worse society to spring up!” I spit in his face and fumble at his grip, but he just holds me harder. He pats me down, and when he goes to my hips, I try and knee him in the face, but that backfires into him slamming me back first onto the floor, winding and incapacitating me as he finishes. Dragging me up by my hair, as I heave and wretch for breath, he pulls me through the door and into the nicest living space I couldn’t have even dreamt up. It takes away my already taken-away breath, but stills my racing heart and lets the bile trickle away into the nooks and crannies inside my body.

Mahogany furniture is set up so precisely it doesn’t look precise; windows set up, clean and so air-like transparent it is almost as if the glass isn’t there, where metal walls with no separate pieces used to be; a fluffy carpet that was like patchwork, so I had originally thought it was about fifty different coloured rugs placed right next to each other like a jigsaw; a _fire_ in the corner of the room; a black marble counter with _fresh food_ placed lovingly, yet as if it was the norm, along it…

And my necklace sitting on a bit of cloth, at the corner of the table, the string wrapped around the tube in a way only Lizzy could have done it. I rush over to it, unravel it, tie it around my neck and dangle it under my worn shirt, all in one fluid motion. A breath I didn’t even know I was holding seeps out through my pores and mouth in a comforted sigh.

“You can warm up here, and get fed. We’ll watch the rest live.” The same woman who had destroyed my neck smiles genuinely at me, patting a chair at the marble table, and pressing a button on a remote on her lap that makes one of the steel walls melt down like it was a thin sheet of ice that had heat applied, to reveal a large screen. I stare at her precariously, hand instantly going to my neck. “It was an act. Brenda Trinket, Effie’s niece. At least I know how to set up a façade in front of millions.”

I go to sit on the seat directed, still unsure about the woman, and Hand Guy seems to have disappeared. Up close, I can see her ringlets are extensions. As soon as my behind touches the chair, a strap appears over it, tying me down. I stare at her. She just sweetly smiles, picks up a cherry and pops it in her mouth, dragging out the stalk and stone. _So much for it all being an act_. I don’t move, defiantly, but her hand reaches over and her bloody talons pierce into my skin, pulling the loose peels of pale skin down a little bit – like a hang nail, but more like a hang _arm_. I give a small cry and I’m saddened to say tears spring up in the corner of my eyes, but I don’t let them drip.

“You will eat. You will watch. You will be intimidated and scared into nothingness and the real foreign bitch you are.”

“Panem’s meant to be united. Not xenophobic.” I spit, through grit teeth, as her anger intensifies, which I can tell easily because her claws are almost slicing tendons and ligaments, and scratching my bone. Her free hand slaps me across my face and she gets up, infuriated at my non-cooperation. I can hear her fumbling with something, but I decide not to look around, like she probably expects me to. I don’t even go to clutch at my burning arm, or touch my stinging cheek. I just stay stock still.

Her hand appears from nowhere, shoving a handful of mushed up bread, butter and something else through my mouth. Writhing to escape, her hand forces my head to stay still and she rams a metal contraption onto my scalp roughly. Quickly, she darts in front of me, pressing metal rings – a spring? – onto each eyelid, which she had forced down, and taping it against my skin. My eyelids flick open and I see her grab each wrist, which are still joined by a chain, and tie them down with thick, leather straps. I blink, and just as my lashes connect, my eyelids are flying up again. Something cold slides into my arm, I glance up and see a drip.

“Seeing as you won’t eat, you will have to get nutrients another way. You need to build up that, pretty, body.” She lays a hand on my chest and I can’t shy away from it. Her hand moves from my chest to my cheek, her thumb sliding under my chin, and she brings my head closer to her mouth, so my ear is almost pressed against her lips. “That contraption forces you to watch the screen. You can blink, but you can’t keep your eyes closed any longer than a quarter of a second. Afterwards, I’ll show you some things. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything. We’ll just have a bit of fun.” She backs away and goes to sit back in her original seat, flicking the remote to turn the screen on and picks up another cherry.

The Reapings now work like this: the first to be Reaped is District Sixteen, then there is an hour and a half wait, then Thirteen, a five minute wait, then Twelve, a five minute wait, then Eleven etc. This is so many can watch most of the tributes live, and the tribute from Sixteen is forced to watch all of them. Two or one, boys or girls, can be reaped – it is utterly random. The five minute breaks are filled with a commentator talking about each tributes supposed weakness and strengths. I wonder what they said about me.

From Thirteen, a young girl named Rachel Smith, whose fourteen, and a boy the same age as me, named Aris Jones. They hug each other, so I assume they are close friends. The odds were heavily against them, even though they are young, because they only fixed the problem with conceiving children around seventeen years ago, so there is no seventeen or eighteen year olds, and not many sixteen year olds.

From Twelve, a girl named Teresa Agnes, who is sixteen and Winston Silver, who is seventeen, who shake hands and smile reassuringly at each other. Obviously they know each other, but not well. Now District Twelve doesn’t have two parts, the poor and the slightly richer, but are all richer than could have possibly been imagined by anyone like Gale Hawthorne or Katniss Everdeen by ten times. Teresa even has gold earrings, and Winston a fancy gold watch, with what appears a marble face. Teresa causes a few chuckles among the commentators, for her resemblance to the Mockingjay: her dark brown, slightly frizzy, hair, her age, and her confidence displayed by Katniss much later in her Games.

From Eleven is two boys, Albert Rose, who smiles cockily at his escort and says that he likes to be called Alby, and Siggy something-or-other, I can’t remember his surname, who also says he liked to be called something different. Frypan, he said, because, at age eighteen, he already had a job and was the main cook for their district. The escort then said about he must come back than, which he simply replied by swinging his arm around Alby, who seems slightly older by a few months, and saying they were planning on it.

From Ten, a thirteen-year-old girl named Beth Tricks, and her seventeen-year-old brother Gally were both reaped. I imagine if Lizzy had been reaped with me, what our reactions would be. Definitely not the same as these siblings, who seemed to act like they were being told that they were moving up a class in school – at the end of the year, when you are meant to anyway.

From Nine, Chuck Day, and a sixteen-year-old boy named Thomas Runner, who says that Chuck is his next-door neighbour, who they basically adopted. That would surprise most, to reveal this connection to the twelve-year-old boy, but his demeanour and the way he says it, pushing Chuck behind him and with “I’m threatening you” clearly displayed like a neon sign at night in his voice, makes me think that this boy would be a good ally. Him and his almost-adoptive brother.

From Eight, just a boy named Minho Tracks is reaped. He simply says that his mother was brought here from Korea eighteen years ago, and she died on the way during childbirth with him. One of the doctors who helped with his birth took a shining to him and adopted him. His mother had only provided her first name, and the name she wanted the baby to have if it was a boy or a girl. Obviously they gave him the name his mother requested if he would be a boy and, seeing as he had no surname, he was given his new adopted family’s surname. He’s clever, he’s saying this stuff for sponsors, and you can tell from his build he is strong and fast. He would be a good ally, and I might be able to join forces with him over our similar past.

From Seven, a girl named Ximena Jewels who just stood up, said she was eighteen, then walked off. That caused quite a stir. She seemed aggressive, and the commentators were speculating over whether she would be a strong fighter, or someone who would sit down and wait to be killed, bored out of their minds. I hoped it was the latter, even though the number of victors could be as large as the number of tributes – but so far there had never even been one tribute in the past twenty two years – if she was one for the win, I could imagine she would try and be the only one.

From Six, Miyoko Spiral skips up to the stage, happily states her name, and her age and skips off with her escort. She’s the same bloody age as Lizzy, and Lizzy was terrified out of her mind that she would be reaped. How could this girl be so goddamn happy about skipping to her 99% certain death?

From Five, Alejandra Brooks and Zart Matthews, both fifteen and both quite confident, but you can see the nerves creeping into their system. Alejandra’s eyes flickering around and Zart’s hands, fingers flexing repeatedly, followed by a few wringing his hangs, followed by swinging them by his sides, before he repeats these movements behind his back, just in sight of the camera. Another possible ally?

From Four, Tim Riffs and Jack Twister, both fourteen. I look at them and realise they look like what I call “subtle survivors”. They aren’t the main ones people look at, the strong, powerful ones, but they aren’t weak. They survive for a lot longer than people notice.

From Three, a boy, sixteen, named Mark Towers. He’s quiet, and a step above the “subtle survivors”, he looks like a leader, or at least someone who will help a group survive. Another good ally. Even the commentators say that he looks powerful, quiet – he seems dangerous to not have on your side.

From Two, Trina Deedee, a fairly beautiful girl who strides over to her escort and speaks her name and age confidently. She smiles and nods at her districts. A powerful female – possibly even more dangerous to go against than Mark.

From One is another set of what seems best friends, Clint Reynolds and Jeff Abrahams. While neither seem particularly fast or strong, the way they evaluate the crowd and the escort, even the camera, like they are scrutinising me, give off the fact that their minds and talents may lie in other aspects of survival and advanced intellect.

All in all, I think most of this group would be good allies – and many would be terrible enemies. Now that as many people as possible out of the tributes could be victors, other than my snide assumption about Ximena, I believe it is highly likely we might be able to all band together.

The screen flicks off, Brenda gets up and leaves. I thought she was going to do something after the live Reapings? I can’t remember…I’m so tired. The door locks behind her, and all I can do is feel myself become increasingly more and more fatigued, but the bloody contraption prevents me from closing my eyes. My sight becomes unfocused and a migraine blooms in skull. I let my tears flow freely, but even that hurts because I am unable to blink them out of my eyes, consequently the salty liquid will only drip away slowly when my tear ducts and eyes overflow, meaning my eyelids are straining with the force of my tears building up under my skin. I just want my eyes to burst.

I just want this torture to end.

I just want to go home.

But I can’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late. In this chapter, all named characters mentioned are actual Maze Runner characters. Obviously I created surnames for them, but those you might not know (either you haven't read all five of the books or know about the graphic novel about Group B's Maze) are real.   
> Some of the minor characters I absolutely love. Other than Brenda, I love all the main characters, but my favourite minor characters are Zart, Clint and Jack. However my favourite character overall is Newt - obviously!!  
> What are your favourite minor characters?   
> Comment what you think so far as well and kudos!! xx


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt and Brenda discuss tributes...

Brenda does end up coming back in. She must have only gone out for a few minutes at most, but because of my predicament, it seemed like bloody eternity. A very painful, hellish purgatory. Grasped in her manicured hand is a clipboard, with a few sheets of paper carefully clipped on, one behind the other, with no edges poking out. _OCD much. But to be fair, if there were edges poking out, that would be the final bloody straw_.

She slowly disappears behind me, trying to be slow and seductive…it is just infuriating me further, that little skank. I want to knock some sense into her – _STOP ACTING SUCH A BLOODY SLUT_.

A sudden slash of nails drags across the back of my head, I feel something twist and the bloody headgear (it does have my dried blood on it) clatters off. My eyes instantly shut, all the tears leak out in one rush and the stinging throb soars for a second, then peters out. I hang my head down, so my chin touches my chest, feeling the trauma produce exhaustion that shakes at my bones.

“I’m sorry about that. But like with your trip here, and the guard, it is just precaution because of our experience with the others from before.” My bloodshot eyes flicker open, and, out of the corner of my eye, I shoot her a cold, yet tired glare. She’s sat back down, and, after meeting my stare, she uncomfortably looks down, her hand rubbing her face and neck awkwardly.

“Save it, bitch. I don’t care, alright? Even if I wasn’t treated horrifically, I’d still hate you… you’ve taken me away from my innocent sister, leaving her alone in a bloody district where it is dangerous for _her_ to be alone. I’m going to get slaughtered, and let me guess – just like every year, for entertainment purposes, I’ll be the one targeted with the Creators bloody monsters, I’ll be the one with crap weapons and no sponsors. All because I’m from Sixteen, I’m foreign and the last British one left in Panem. You will deliberately try to manipulate, distract, or outright lie to me so I fail, or will be unprepared. But guess what? I’ve already got a bloody plan. I’m going to be alone and I don’t need your _bloody fake_ help that you were told to give, so I will unwittingly trust you under false pretences.” I spit at the end, the glob of saliva hitting her smack bang on her long, polished nails.

“No, Newt. I agree with everything you said. You’re right about the plan – you are just a piece of entertainment to be used by Panem. I think that you are some big-mouthed little alien who accepts his position in the world, but uses that, and his own slimy personality, to make it seem like he is better than the worthless little shit tool that he is. However, even though there is nothing more I want to see than your dead body on screen as the product of a humiliating end, I know you will survive. So, I will, unwillingly, do my job and be your escort and mentor.” Brenda finishes by reaching over and pulling one of my bloody arm straps to the side, which loosens it and causes the leather to slide off. My hand instantly goes to my face, briefly touching my skin, before I slowly stick my hand out. She shakes it and opens the file as I free my other hand, and twist my chair to tuck under the table.

I’ve been called similar things before, and I won’t say I disagree with a couple of the statements, but, for some reason, I feel strangely comforted. A person actually believes I can make it and is going to help me. That person is question is someone I count as an enemy, fraud, danger and someone who hates me. If someone like that, who wishes me dead, believes I will survive and is going to actually become a possible lifeline, means that what she says…could be true.

“Most tributes would make secure allies, and the majority of them would be willing to ally with you, only for the chance of survival, though. I would say the only possible direct threat is Ximena Jewels, from District Seven. She’s a hard-core survivor, and whether that means she will try and build a stable and trusting economy with all of you, or if she decides to take the untouched glory for herself.” Brenda places the file on the table between us, her finger scanning across the notes against the picture of Ximena.

“A joint, strong survival that shows unity that resembles the bloody revolution, but with much more peaceful undertones, and can be a shining group for the whole of Panem to strive to be, or the lonesome, terrifying, exhilarating hero that is the perfect embodiment of what Panem was, became to be, and is. A shining court of harmony, or a powerful, dark crown?” I say, causing Brenda to purse her lips and give a slight nod of approval and dismissal.

“She could do a mix of both – choose certain allies or attack the whole group at the end? Cause a mass murder that she planned out so intricately that it seems an accident with nothing related to her? She is the only one left of a strong group, the sole survivor, a figurehead of what the group stood for. A Mockingjay.” Brenda continues, trying to sound just as clever and artistic-like with words as me. I just give her the same nod and bloody look she gave me. She coughs, moves around and points to another part of the paper. “Anyway, we also have indirect threats.”

“The younger siblings.” I say as I see her point at the examples.

“Chuck first and foremost. Even though him and Thomas aren’t actually related, the relationship between them, the protective side of Thomas coming through, is something along the lines of what I imagine you and your sister Li-”

“Sonya.” I cut in.

“ _Sonya_.” She mutters snarkily. “Would have if you were in the same situation. Beth, the only other younger sibling, is also an indirect threat, but not so much as the boy from what we can see in contrast between Thomas and Gally and the relationships they showed with their younger counterparts.”

“We don’t know how skilled either are. Chuck and Beth are two of the youngest, along with Miyoko. We don’t know how the older brothers will react if they are injured, or killed. Thomas, in particular, and he most of all struck me as the strongest ally.” I finish, pointing at those I mentioned on the file.

“Exactly. The strongest ally has, most likely, the most obvious and most likely to come into play weakness. What if our suspicion of Ximena is correct? She, and everyone else, will be doing what we are doing. What if she deliberately goes after the biggest weakness, to take down the strongest ally? Everyone and everything else will crumble and she will win.” Brenda traces back to Ximena, takes a multi-ink pen out of her pocket and flicks down the red ink switch. She draws a little dot at the top of the paper and scribbles next to it “ _probable direct threat_ ” and circles Ximena’s name. She flicks down the black ink and does the same, but this time writing “ _certain indirect threat_ ” and circling Chuck’s name. Flicking down the purple ink, she dots, writes “ _possible indirect threat_ ” and circles Beth’s name. Finally, she brings down the green ink, dots carefully, scrawls “ _strongest ally_ ” and perfectly circles Thomas’ name. She passes me the pen then. “Choose your definite, then your possible, choice of allies.

I slowly push down the brown ink, drag the file over and write, in my neat handwriting, “ _allies_ ”. I then take a breath, close my eyes and remember my opinion of the tributes. I open my eyes and circle Teresa, Winston, Alby, Frypan, Chuck, Thomas, Minho, Zart, Tim, Jack, Mark and Trina.

I then click down the pink pen, write “ _hopeful allies_ ” and circle Rachel, Aris, Beth, Gally, Miyoko and Alejandra.

Finally, using the last ink, the orange, I write “ _could be ally – need further evaluation_ ” and circle Ximena’s name. I pass the bloody file back over to Brenda, so she can read over my decisions.

“Yes, yes, yes…I guess Chuck would be a good ally even if he is an indirect threat…of course Thomas, Minho is a good second strongest…Zart was nervous, but there is potential…Tim and Jack? If you want…I personally wouldn’t have chosen them…yes and yes. Rachel and Aris are good hopefuls, we can’t really tell yet…Beth _is_ a possible indirect threat and her brother…he seemed a little off…Miyoko reminded you a little of your sister… but you were also surprised at her reaction… you don’t know what to think of her, a wise choice to stay wary…Alejandra…she seems strong, but, likely to side with Ximena…that is dangerous depending on her strengths, but is Ximena _does_ want to be the _only_ winner, Alejandra will end up hurt or dead…don’t get to close…Ximena definitely needs further evaluation. All in all, I pretty much agree with your choices, other than a couple. But Jack and Tim aren’t threats, so I guess they won’t hurt.” Brenda nods and closes the file, stands up and tucks it under her arm.

Walking out of the compartment, through an exit I swear popped up from nowhere, she suddenly stops, but doesn’t turn round.

“Look Newt. As I’ve said before, I don’t like you. But, as an escort and mentor, I know you will survive. You’ve already evaluated each tribute and decided whose best for you by only a small glance at them – at their reactions to being reaped into a competition, I will admit it, where it seems the whole thing is rigged to only end in death. You’ve survived what could be classed as minor torture, and was ready to comply and work with someone who is against you. We found common ground. You are a clever boy, who is able to see and understand the best way to get to the best situations. Whether that is submission, compromise, your way with words, manipulation, evaluation, trusting your opinions, sticking to what you believe, but willingness to see and even slightly going along with others, if that means you are heard and have as much freedom and notice as possible. I haven’t seen your strength, agility, stamina or survival skills, but based on your look, your situation, your treatment of me and way of handling the past few hours, I know that they are also among your strengths. While I may detest who you are, working with someone with those personality traits and fire in their heart, will be rewarding, interesting and even, possibly, enjoyable. I loathe that you are a foreigner, your cockiness, your resilience against your rightful place, but, if your characteristics are placed in the way of something else, are directed at your survival in the Hunger Games and if you strip away who you are and were, I may even be happy that you are among those to survive.

“You can eat what is on the table. It is for you.” And with that, she walks out, and the wall slides shut, leaving me unable to escape.

 _And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the bloody act_ , I think. While what she had said had a roundabout ring of a similarity of the truth – _that_ is the manipulative act I condemned her of. What she said about my characteristics and way of survival is fact, but her opinion of me, and the chance she could be happy with me as a winner, was a bloody, and crappy, façade. She’d only be happy for the praise and money and recognition she would receive.

_“You changed a Sixteen to one of the first winners!”_

_“The feisty, no-good, British tribute managed to be amongst the winners because of Brenda Trinket!”_

_“What a feat!”_

_“Brenda Trinket, relative to the honourable Effie Trinket, shows that the talent Effie demonstrated with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, does run in the family!”_

_“How did she ever do it?”_

_“How could she do it?”_

_“Incredible, the true winner!”_

_“The true victor!”_

_“The true hero!”_

I tuck into truly fabulous meal. My heart grows tight at the thought of Lizzy. Brenda was right, I put Miyoko in the third category about allies because she did remind me of Lizzy, but also was the complete opposite to her. In her age, I saw my sister…but in her reaction, I couldn’t even see the power-hungry persona I had spun for buggin' Ximena. I knew that if I got to close to the girl, she could remind me of Lizzy, but it was most likely she would be a painful reminder of what I basically have lost.

Lizzy would be having a morsel to eat now, probably still in shock. Harriet and Vince would be comforting her, providing her with three times as much food as she would have at home. Their house normally has twice as much as us, sometimes more, and they would feel so sympathetic, they would provide her with most of their meal, as a comfortable coping mechanism. The meal to her would feel like this meal to me – she would taste the wonders to have a little more, a little better, food, while all the wonders out of the food set before me have been stripped away by sadness, leaving only bloody dregs of a chance of the most fantastic and beautiful food to ever grace my mouth and body.

I only manage to polish off a few handfuls before the train pulls to a sudden, but smooth stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit longer to come out, sorry. I hope you like Newt's factorisation and logic of deciding his allies and opinions. Brenda tries to manipulate Newt, and I hope you can tell that, if she had anyone other than Newt, she would probably be able to get away with it. However, Newt being Newt, is playing her at her own game, acting like he has succumbed to her position and has fallen for the trick, when he just hates her more.  
> Who would you have chosen for the categories the pair provided?  
> Comment and kudos xx


	4. Chapter 4

The door slides open, revealing a large crowd of about a hundred or so people. At the front is Hand Guy and Brenda, and around them is a few tributes and their escorts. Towards the front is Ximena and her escort; Minho and his; Clint and his escort, I can’t see Jeff, but I think he’s behind them and Chuck. The little boy is staring at me, and me him, when he is pushed behind a tall figure. Thomas. Like his neighbour, he stares straight at me, and something clicks. A small nod of acknowledgement and alliance passes between us. Brenda and Hand Guy grab my arms and haul me into the crowd, away from Thomas and Chuck.

“What are you doing? You little bastard. Think you’re all fucking it?” Hand Guy whispers into my ear as we are led over to a smiling woman.

“Here I am, Rue Flickerman, talking to the final tribute of the year, and the most talked about, fifteen-year-old, Newton Isaacs!” She cheers happily into the screen. She’s Caesar Flickerman’s daughter, named after the beloved girl Katniss Everdeen allied with in the 74th Hunger Games. She inherited her father’s love for changing her colour scheme each year, this year donning summer green clothes; grass and flower chain accessories; her hair green with highlights of yellow, pink and beige. “So, Newt – how you doing?”

“Bloody great you know? Torn apart from my sister, repeatedly threatened and abused, looked and treated like I’m scum and about to enter some messed-up buggin’ tournament where I’ve got a 49% chance of dying.” I spit sarcastically, not caring about what I say. Everyone knows that what happened was going to happen, it is just they rather no one spoke of it or acknowledged it.

“49%?” She chooses to ignore my other statements, which I knew she would.

“Well you either live or die, so that is 50/50 and that extra 1% chance of living may be because I’ve got something tucked up my sleeve…not that I would tell you and broadcast it everywhere. The plan just stays with me.” I tap my forehead, working up a little bit of character and charm in front of the camera. I need to try and start to intrigue watchers and gain trust and sponsors.

“Between you and your mentor, the fabulous Brenda Trinket?” She smiles broadly, looking over to where Brenda stands, arms crossed, a few feet behind us.

“No. She tried to help me, but, you see, I’m going a little bit AWOL to our half-cooked and poisoned ‘mission plan’ she tried to feed me.” I smile sweetly at the girl in question, my eyes steel bullets breaking through her fake persona. Her camera-ready-self cracks a little when I finish, as she steps forward and brings her arm up as if to steadily throttle me; she instead cups my neck reassuringly and laughs.

“Ah, Newtie.” Only I can tell her fingers tighten into the spot she ripped out of my skin a few hours ago. “I told you, you can just say ‘no’ or even tell them the plan. You don’t have to pretend like we didn’t spend the last while creating a perfectly good plan for you.”

Yeah? Like how you want me dead, or the fact you are willing to help me live to boost your fame? That’s your – ‘our’ – perfectly good plan?

“You have a funny tribute, Brens. Now, let’s go speak to…Aris and Rachel, the next tributes in line! Aris Jones and Rachel Smith…welcome to the second stage of the Hunger Games!” Rue excitedly beckons the next District’s tributes over, while Brenda steers me a couple of feet away. For the next twenty minutes we watch the short interviews, staying stock still like bloody mannequins, her hand only leaving me neck to grasp my elbow behind me.

The interviews work like this: the last District to arrive, Sixteen, will be interviewed and then Thirteen, Twelve, Eleven and so on. It doesn’t make sense, the tributes from One, who arrive first, will be interviewed last, meaning they wait around for a long time, but it is just another bloody scheme set up to humiliate, belittle and create hate for those from Sixteens. It causes everyone to wait around impatiently and those who go first are abused and manipulated into revealing any plan they have set up, giving all the other tributes and the Creators an advantage into killing us mercilessly.

I have to admit, Rue is an amazing interviewer, much like her father. She is so sweet and kind to the other tributes and I soon grow to admire her. Another thought pops into my head, not only is she like her father, I can see her namesake in her as well. Obviously, the only thing I know about the original Rue is what I saw on camera and of what she and her death did to Katniss, but what I witnessed from those bits of evidence I can see here. If she wasn’t told to be manipulative to me, and wasn’t someone who helped in the Hunger Games, I would want to be her friend.

 _Shit, I’ve gone soft_.

Anyway, she is really sweet to the younger ones and the visibly scared ones, and is on the same level as the others, asking them questions about their opinions of not just the Hunger Games, but of other stuff as well, and personal questions. Every so often she will brush over a small question about their plan for the Games, but nothing like what she asked me.

“So, what do you hope for now? What do you hope for, for the Games?” Is the final question she gives Chuck and Thomas.

“I hope to stay with Thomas and make it out ok.” Is all the fearful Chuck says, hiding half behind his ‘adoptive’ brother.

“I hope to make allies, to protect Chuck, myself and said allies, and to make it out of the Games as a team. I also have a small glimmer of hope all us tributes, or at least the majority work together.” As Thomas says that, he subtly glances at me, Minho, Frypan and Alby, before giving the rest of the group an overview. I’m the only one that notices and, subsequently, meets his eyes.

She asks Minho something similar, and he replies with something similar. With the interviews, I can get a better judge on what people are like and if they would be allies. It seems my predictions on the train with Brenda are close to ringing true, especially as Ximena seems to be the type of “winner takes it all” tribute. I suspect she’ll group up with most of the girl’s, probably Aris as well then, seeing as him and Rachel look figuratively tied at the hip. Teresa, on the other hand, seems to want to join Thomas, Minho and myself. Not for that bugging stereotype about girl’s seeking protection for it isn’t hard to imagine us using her for protection, she looks like a bloody strong survivor, ready to kill and whatnot. Gally looks really psycho-y, with a tight hold of his sister, Beth, who also seems on the verge of a bloody psychopath, probably because her brother tells her to.

After everyone has finished, we are shepherded away from the clamouring crowds, the sweet Rue and around half of the guards, including Hand Guy, which I thank the bloody Lord for. We all end up merging into one large clump, and I lose Brenda in it as well. Someone grabs my little finger and I am dragged to the latter half of the clump, not the back for that would be obvious, but close to it to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Chuck was the one holding my finger and he quickly darts behind Thomas, who is staring at me, then he looks over at Minho, who turns round, sees us and slows his pace so we can subtly all walk together.

“Ok, I’ll keep it quick. I think us four should stick together, and Frypan and Alby, but they are at the front so we aren’t able to talk to them now.” Thomas whispers to us, our heads bent slightly towards each other.

“Definitely, I was thinking the same bloody thing.” I agree, and Minho nods and whispers in agreement. “But we need to be careful of-”

“Ximena.” Minho cuts in and we all smile and nod. “And Teresa.”

“I don’t know, Teresa might be a valuable ally.” Thomas reasons, looking over at the dark haired girl, whose head turns round, causing us to all face away from each other and move a few centimetres out, to make it look like we ended up walking next to each other and not with each other.

“There is just something about her I just don’t like.” Minho narrows his eyes at her once she turns back and we move in closer. I can’t help agreeing with him, there is something off about Teresa. Not in the way with Ximena, when you could easily predict the problem you were going to face with her. Something about the brunette was unsettling.

“I don’t know, but we need all the allies we can get, so I say we become allies with her and everyone we can and see where it goes from there.” Chuck whispers wisely, causing us to all look at the small boy, the same age as my sister, with new found respect and affection. His wisdom earns him a ruffle on the head by Thomas, which he shakes off, feigning embarrassment, but nothing can hide the smile on the face he gives us when we all smile happily at him.

“You are right, little Chuck.” I say, nudging him with my elbow.

“You- you remember my name?” He asks in awe.

“Yes,” I laugh, “why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know…sorry, I just thought…I don’t know. I thought someone strong like you wouldn’t remember a little bit of information like the name of the small, fat boy hidden behind a strong tribute. I guess that is what I thought, Newt.” He mumbles, his face falling a little. I sling my arm around his shoulders, not caring if anyone sees.

“Listen here, Chuck, you aren’t unimportant. You are just as valuable as a tribute as your brother, or Minho, or me.” I say, earning another beaming smile from Chuck. “Of course I would remember your name… by the way, what’s the name of the other boy from your district?” we all laugh at that and I release Chuck. We are about to go inside the building when Thomas grabs my shirt and drags me back slightly.

“Look, Newt, I can see that you will be one of the strongest tributes, but you are also the one with the biggest target on your back. Not just from the other tributes, but from the Creators and the sponsors. Most want you dead. But I don’t. Even if I wasn’t a tribute I wouldn’t want you dead. You deserve to win, as much as Chuck does. So, even though we have just met, I want you to know that I will protect you as much as I would protect Chuck. If I had to choose to save one of you, I’d find a way to save both, same goes for Minho.” Thomas hurries, for people are beginning to look.

“Thomas, I don’t need bloody protection, but thanks. I don’t want you to die either, nor Chuck and Minho, nor anyone. I will protect all of you as well. I understand that I’m the biggest bloody target and I don’t want to drag you guys into the crossfire…but…we all need to stick together. Allies?” I reply, starting to walk away because I can see Brenda watching us from the other side of the large room we’ve all packed into.

“Friends.” Thomas says, winking.

“Friends.” I laugh, winking back. I then turn around and march over to Brenda, whose waiting by an open lift door. Barging past her, I flick the ‘16’ button, the penthouse, and avoid eye contact with her as she stares at me, sidling up to my side, even though the lift is empty and massive. It takes thirty seconds to travel to the penthouse, but those seconds are filled with tense, angry silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a lot longer than expected, so sorry. I need each chapter to be just over 2000 words long and I couldn't think of what I wanted to include into this chapter. Whenever I got any ideas, it would be at the most inconvenient of times and by the time I would be able to write, I would get distracted. The next chapter should be up soon, hopefully a lot quicker, I am aiming for by this Sunday. Once I get back into the flow, I will try and create a schedule. Love you guys, you all give me such support and that is what keeps me going.  
> Comment and kudos xx
> 
> (Oh!!! Also, the last bit isn't really Newtmas, I don't know whether I'm going to include that or not, it is just the start of their friendship and their strong bromance.)

**Author's Note:**

> I really changed Panem didn't I? Who'd have thought I could have given a futuristic, dystopian messed-up world, an even more dystopian and messed-up future? If you find it confusing, comment and I'll explain it.
> 
> This is by far my favourite fanfic to write! I love TMR, Newt, Thomas, Minho, Frypan, Gally, Winston, Chuck - even Teresa! All of them (but never Brenda)! 
> 
> Please comment and kudos. Love you all!! xx


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